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| In Memory of Charles Sawtelle |
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| We'll Take It From Here, Slade… |
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This is Dark Cloud on Wednesday, March 24, 1999. Want to give the caveat at the beginning this week. The views expressed herein are my own and bear little if any resemblance to those of KGNU’s staff, Board, mental health professionals, volunteers, militant extremists, radical hygienists, tree huggers, or pyramid therapists. However if you want any of their personal phone numbers, home addresses, or photographs from the last Christmas party, give me a jingle. My Newsletter, The Boulder Lout, is available for free. Notify me with any suggestions, advice, extortion attempts, or physical threats, by writing to Box 623, Boulder, Colorado 80306-0623, or e-mail me at darkcloud4@juno.com, or call at 303.440.4404 x 121. Okay. In the late 1960's, early 1970's American Music was not all that concerned with bluegrass, the genre along with jazz and rock'n'roll that rank as this nation's unique musical contribution to the world. During that period, popular music dealt almost solely with rock and the schmaltz, which was suppos-edly country music. I had a folk-bluegrass band, and when we received our the mimeographed copy of a new magazine called Bluegrass Unlimited, which is now a glossy, we entered an advertised contest in Maryland to coincide with our tour through Washington, D.C. It was, as they say, an eye-opener. First, the best band there was not us, nor any other native group, but a bunch of Japanese kids. They did not win, either. They did not win because this was rural Maryland at the height of racial tension in America, and they were not about to be given top prize in American Music only twenty-five years after the war ended, although much grudging admiration was expressed. We had to leave before the show ended to make our own curtain at the Shoreham Hotel that night, so we never found out who won, beyond the fact it surely would not be us. What I admired and had been blown away by was the little Japanese kid on guitar, flatpicking at blistering speeds right along with the banjo. I had only heard guitar playing like that once, and it was on record, and it was by a blind guy named Doc Watson. There was a minor revolution going on then. Bluegrass banjo had been given a leg up by Flatt and Scruggs on the Beverly Hillbillies, and by the same group doing the soundtrack for Bonnie and Clyde. But speedy guitar work to keep up with the burning banjo was limited to little riffs and ruffles and the longer, faster breaks were taken by fiddle, and its double stringed flatpicked duplicate the mandolin. In all the famous banjo breakdowns of Earl Scruggs, there is precious little guitar work in the early versions. There simply were not any guitarists fast enough to keep up for sustained breaks. Then at the end of the 1960's, Doc Watson came along and freed the guitar from its backup roll, and a thousand lead guitarists from rock'n'roll could satisfy their notions in music they had loved since childhood a few years back. It would be misleading to say that this all happened exactly then, but rather that it merely came to the attention of most of us. It was pretty exciting. Except for me, who was the guitarist in a group with a fast banjo player. I could plunk out my Lester Flatt riffs, which are not demanding, but rapid flat-picking was then beyond me. Utterly. And while I had to recede as an influence in my own group back then, I envied and admired the guitarists we acquired to overcome my deficits, and I became a connoisseur of the ideal bluegrass or acoustic guitarist: technically brilliant, fast, restrained, and tasteful and always, always, subservient to the intent of the music. Also, non-existent, like sane banjo players or drummers who could count in rhythm. I finally met one. I only met Charles Sawtelle a few times. He was laconic, polite, modest, and funny, all qualities I admire and do not have, myself. He was also one of the best guitarists I have ever heard in my life, in any type of music. In my youth, if I could have chosen what sort of guitarist I could be, it would have been Charles Sawtelle.He did many, many things very well but I want to focus on one aspect that everyone, musician or not, notices but cannot quite put their finger on - pun appropriate - in describing his playing. If you are an average guitarist or you have recently switched from electric to steel string acoustic, you share your songs with the buzzes and clicks of fingers unaccustomed to the demands and string tension of the acoustic steel string guitar. You are aware of the strength and skill required to remove the extraneous sounds, which most - not all - pros have. Even in the most musically convoluted break, Sawtelle was so adept at his instrument, he could seemingly turn a volume knob and bring up his sound level keeping each note in perfect proportion to each other, not changing the character or tone of the notes, which can happen with a pick, only its volume. Further, his intonation was so good notes emerged smooth as if by keyboard. I used to think, listening to his band Hot Rize play at what was then Molly's Backroom, that it was clever usage of microphone or an audio hallucination. But it was not. His playing was seamless, soft as butter, and warm. As fast and as innovative as anybody, Sawtelle faded into the background cheerfully when appropriate and reappeared when needed. His jazzlike breaks in some bluegrass songs suggested a connection clear to him but previously unheard by others, like me. I admire musicians who can point out something new in subtle ways, like and unlike Bela Fleck. Sawtelle was a gifted musician, one of the best in a city with more than its share, clearly an underrated artist, and as you have no doubt heard, he is gone. At the age of fifty two, Charles died last weekend in California of leukemia. I did not know him, and can profess no connection to him except as a fan. I admired his work greatly, and wish it were emulated more. Of course, it cannot be. This is Dark Cloud, we'll see you next week. |
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